


They Will Have Blood

by SpoonDance



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 03:30:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6103381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpoonDance/pseuds/SpoonDance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though she's sure on her decision to try for peace, Lexa does not feel any lighter.</p><p> </p><p>*Trigger Warning: Description of blood, bleeding, being cut*</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Will Have Blood

**Author's Note:**

> This came into my head after last weeks ep. and evidently had to write it.
> 
> I don't even remember where I was originally going with this so if it seems a bit unfinished... oops?

 She stood just at the crest of the hill, overlooking the massacre of her warriors. Those she had just denied vengeance for. Those she had denied their rightful blood. ‘ _Peace. It’s for peace,’_ she reminded herself. But peace for the living did not help the restless dead.

“Lexa-”

Her muscles tightened at the voice. “I’m tired, Clarke. I do not wish to talk further.”

There was a silence, she thought Clarke would leave and give her back to her heavy thoughts, but Clarke remained. Simply stepped up and stood beside her, looking out over the scene that resembled her insides.

The quiet kept and Lexa eased. Clarke’s presence stilling her more than she’d thought it would. But she knew. Clarke _knew_. She had to know what this decision meant and what this felt like. On some level, she did. And so she did not wish her away. Instead she sunk into their silence and let it carry as if they spoke to one another, words traded for shared pain and a shared tear in their soul.

“We will honor them,” Clarke’s voice was small and quiet but strong.

Lexa looked to her and met Clarke’s gaze a moment later. “I’ve dishonored them greatly. It’ll take more than a ceremony to right that.” Her tone was sharp and cut through her throat and, as her eyes fell back to the dead, her stomach churned.

A hand on her forearm made her turn, expression blank and eyes not quite as sharp as a warriors should always be.

Clarke looked to her with that concerned, pained look and Lexa didn’t want to see it. She wished she could be angry at Clarke for suggesting peace over vengeance, for urging for the peace they both so wanted. To accuse her of playing her to favor murderers. To blame her for caring too much. But she couldn’t. Because Clarke was sincere in her desire for peace; she would’ve fought for leniency for any other settlement with innocents inside. And it was her caring that brought forth a goodness in the world Lexa longed to see. And, ultimately, Lexa only had herself to blame.

“Your warriors fought and died for you because they believed in you and your vision. Peace on the land will rest on them.”

Lexa swallowed thickly. That was just it. They died for her without cause. And peace was not close enough for their spirits to reach.

Her voice was strained when she spoke. “I will take kill marks for each warrior slaughtered here. They will have blood.”

She felt Clarke’s stunned gaze but didn’t not look nor wait for a reply. She squared her shoulders and strode off towards the tent.

 

* * *

 

It was a ceremony but it was not public. It was Lexa stood, shirtless and weaponless, before Indra. Her small accompaniment of warriors, including Octavia, watching from afar. And Clarke. She was mere feet away, looking like she ached to step up beside Lexa but held herself back. Because this was on Lexa despite her protests.

Lexa bowed her head to her warrior and offered up her own knife. Indra’s gaze was hard as ever, anger and respect swirling within her. Indra returned the nod and took the knife. Lexa turned, knelt, and presented her back.

“ _Jus drein jus daun._ ”

 

* * *

 

Blood streamed down her back, the cuts were deep but were no real danger to her person.

Indra worked, row after row, across the right side of the Commander’s back. Each a small payment to her warriors. Each all that Heda could(or would) offer. And she’d take it. But she would not let emotion drive her in this ritual. She didn’t know if the Commander was being weak or if she truly thinks change will come, that their people will not want Heda’s spirit released. But she is Heda and she swore to follow.

With the last cut, each warrior paid, Indra laid the blade of the knife against the skin beneath the final mark to signal the end, but the girl moved away.

“One more, Indra.”

Indra blinked at the strong if torn back, confused. “Heda, that is all. All have been bled for.”

“No, they have not. The final one is for you. For the blood you lost and the life taken from your soul in this mindless killing. For living to see no vengeance sought.”

“Heda, I-”

“Ai jus ste gon yu kom teik, Indra. Teik em.” _(My blood is for you to take, Indra. Take it.)_

She stood frozen, it was not the way and she sought no vengeance for herself.

“ _Nau._ ” _(Now.)_ And her voice was that of Commander, that of a leader seeking atonement. And so she lifted the blade.

 

* * *

 

When Indra moved back as the fresh slice wept, Lexa took a deep breath and straightened her back for a moment. Looking out over the bodies, she reached behind her to rake her nails across the congealing blood to reopen and bleed before dropping forward. Forehead pressed to the earth and hands spread out and resting in the mud, body prostrate in offering. She felt the blood run along heated skin and dripping from her to the ground.

She breathed heavily into the earth, giving her blood and breath back. And, as she knelt there, body tired and the drowsy weight of her weeping back falling on her, she tried to ignore the cracks in her. Where she’d been crushed so many times before - breaking beneath each loss of life - that seemed only to be made up of sutures and steel bars. Where the strength of her soul was held through blood, both given and taken, to the point where she felt she was made _entirely_ of blood. Sutures, bars, and blood.

She tried to ignore it, especially when she felt her insides twist and breaths become ragged. Tried to reign in all thoughts, to hold onto the bars and _breathe_. She would not cry here. She would not cry for those fallen here. Because they did not need her tears, they needed blood, and she would not taint that with her weakness.

It was a gentle hand on the unmarred side of her back that pulled her back, muscles pulled taut.

“If you’re ready, we’ll need to clean and dress your back.” It was Clarke’s voice, soft and firm and she felt herself tremble.

Part of her wanted to refuse healing, to take the wounds and carry them as is, to bleed until the earth decided it had had enough and they healed themselves. Part of her wanted to move back into the warmth behind her and sink into it. But all of her was in a struggle and so she remained silent and still.

“We’ll clean the marks for you to wear, healed and strong so you can see to peace tomorrow.”

And it was in her tone, in the words she chose that Lexa knew what Clarke was doing, what she was really saying. She was saying, _“I see your pain, let me give you the opportunity to return to privacy. Let me care for your wounds so they do not weaken you. You need rest to see the future you are fighting for.”_ It was after a steadying breath that she sat up, Clarke’s hand moving with her ‘til it rested on her shoulder. She didn’t look up at the girl stood just behind her, she didn’t need to to know she was there to aid her. In her steps back into the tent. In the cleaning of her back. In the fight that was their lives.

 

* * *

 

They had settled in the back, parted from the rest of the tent by a heavy curtain. Lexa lay on her stomach on the furs as Clarke cleaned her wounds. It was silent as Clarke worked, as Lexa stared off, as her blood just outside seeped further into the earth.

It wasn’t until Clarke began to apply salve to the wounds that she spoke, softly, “You know you can cry.” It seemed a mix between an offer, a suggestion, a question, and a… plea?

Lexa stiffened, jaw tightening, about to remind Clarke that she is not weak, when Clarke’s hand moves to the smooth side of her back. Hand pressed lightly to her skin, calming and steadying.

“It’s just us, Lexa. It’s just you and me here.”

And Lexa felt her throat tighten instantly. Because it was Clarke offering Lexa and not _Heda_ the safety to mourn and Lexa hadn’t known how much she needed that very acknowledgement. Her muscles relaxed even as her face twisted with the first tears she’s shed in a very, very long time. Clarke went back to gently applying the ointment and it was soothing. Lexa let herself tremble and break beneath those hands.

  



End file.
